For about a week after the festivals I did nothing much. I read a bit and watched TV. I saw a wonderful version of Sunset Song that the BBC made in 1971 when I was abroad so I had never seen it. I've since discovered that in the early 80s while I was still away they filmed Cloud Howe and Grey Granite, the other two books in the trilogy. I do hope they broadcast them again.
Then the queen died and I set off for a lovely weekend with fellow saxophonists at The Burn where The Scottish Saxophone Academy has organised twice yearly get-togethers for a while now. I thought its grounds were looking particularly well cared for this September. The food was excellent and its wifi was definitely 100% better than it has ever been over the years I've been going. David, the manager, told me it will be even better next March which is when I should be there again.
Leaving all that aside I had decided to spend a couple of days in Montrose afterwards instead of coming directly home. The picture above is from Montrose museum where they've had the brilliant idea of creating facsimiles of a couple of Pictish stones that they have and painting them up. So instead of peering at distinctly worn carvings and thinking "well if the label says that's Delilah cutting Samson's hair down in the bottom right I suppose it must be" you can actually see it.
I thought it was a terrific museum. I was only there because the House of Dun that I intended to visit wasn't open on the days I was in Montrose. After the museum I took a bus up the coast to St Cyrus where there's a nature reserve and a breathtaking beautiful beach. I didn't actually go onto the beach because my approach from the village led to the top of a cliff. There was a very narrow treacherous looking path down. I was not well shod for descending especially since my big toes had been shot to pieces on some slopes I'd encountered the previous day.
Next time I'll get off the bus just after the North Esk bridge and walk along the beach from there. Here's what it looks like. You can see the mouth of the North Esk top right.
After that I went further up the coast to Stonehaven passing through a number of pleasant looking places including Inverbervie, birthplace of Hercules Linton who designed the Cutty Sark. Stonehaven has its own place in the history of Scotland, boasting not only the chip shop that invented the deep fried Mars bar but is the birthplace of Robert William Thomson who invented the pneumatic tyre forty three years before another better known Scot, John Boyd Dunlop reinvented it.
I had a nice drink in the sunshine by the harbour before setting off back to Montrose.
The previous day I had walked out from the town via the fringes of the Montrose Basin and through Ferryden with its views of the modern harbour out to the Skurdie Ness lighthouse. A very pleasant walk over which I took my time and enjoyed having a seat every now and then to contemplate land and sea.
When I walked back I didn't go into Montrose but headed a mile or so down the road to the south to a visitor centre where there's a great view of the basin, a little exhibition about its wildlife and excellent coffee. You can sit for a long time peering through the telescopes and binoculars provided at what's going on on the mudflats and in the water. I did. I'm not too hot on bird identification and there were lots I couldn't name though I spotted a beautiful curlew and some cormorants. For a while I watched a bunch of seals doing nothing very much. Occasionally one would shuffle a few yards off then plomp down again for a rest that seemed out of proportion to the effort it had just expended.
I bussed back to town and set off to find a beach. I walked a long way and the tide was in so no stroll on the sand. Then I walked the long way back to the George Hotel where I was staying, had a tasty meal from their "small portions" menu. Big enough for me but just a snack for the sturdy North Sea workers who form a good proportion of their visitors. After that it was feet up and TV for the latest in the royal death drama.
An hour or so after I got home from Montrose Ewan arrived from the States. He more or less immediately headed off to St Andrews with a friend to play golf, coming back in time to enjoy more sport at the weekend (on TV this time) when we watched the Camanachd Cup final and the Davis Cup together.
Fiona's sister's husband Julian, who was one of the nicest guys you could ever meet, died last year when funerals were sorely restricted. It was decided to hold a memorial for him this month and Ewan and I went down to Yorkshire, via Keswick, to attend. The event was held in a Iarge country inn on a hillside with a grand view to the north over the Calder valley. There were lots of guests the vast majority of whom I didn't know. A number of his friends and relatives made interesting and entertaining speeches reminiscing over years gone by. I certainly learnt a few things I hadn't known about him and his daughter said to me that if she'd known her dad was such a tearaway in his youth she'd have kicked over a few more traces in hers. I contributed with a cut down version of Tam O'Shanter, a poem he loved, and got back to Edinburgh that evening only slightly disrupted by the UK's wobbly train service - refund agreed and awaited.
Before heading south we watched the state funeral on TV. What a superb spectacle. Every move faultless and precise. BBC presentation likewise and praise be they allowed us to watch the procession to the abbey and the service without commentary.
There was a send-off of a different kind on view at the weekend when Roger Federer played his last professional tennis match in the Laver Cup. This is a team competition between Europe and the rest of the world which has a unique and attractive format and which was instigated and designed in part by Roger. His doubles match with Rafael Nadal as partner didn't start till about 10pm so by the time we got through tearful goodbyes, hugs and entertainment I didn't get to bed till about 1.30am. But I'm glad I saw it.
Our Thursday on-line theatre get togethers held during the pandemic have been revived but given that people are out and about again in the evenings I think attendances will be sporadic. Only three of us made it to the first one. It was an odd production from the Bristol Old Vic that was a mix of music gig and story telling with a bit of chat to the audience thrown in. A story of the friendships and troubles of a group of teenagers growing up in rural Devon it didn't much appeal to me but for those with whom it struck a chord it might well have meant a lot.
I also saw live theatre at the Brunton with Claire and her mum. This was a show called 549: Scots of the Spanish Civil War. The staging, lighting, sound, physical organisation and performance were exceptional in this highly energetic and admirable show about four men from Prestonpans who joined the International Brigade in Spain in 1936. As usual Mark Fisher reviews it perfectly albeit the review is of an earlier production in Prestonpand town hall where I doubt that they were able to achieve such fine lighting. That merits a fourth star. Here's what he has to say.
My central heating came on this morning. Should I reduce my thermostat to save gas?
